Letters to John
by Sherloki'd
Summary: Sherlock finds it hard to express his romantic feelings, so he keeps a secret online diary where he posts letters to John. One day John discovers said diary. That's when everything changes. Post Reichenbach.
1. The day when everything changed

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

**Warning:** I tried to keep it neutral (with just a splash of British words), but I'm always more inclined towards Americanisms, and English is not even my native tongue, lol.

**Rating**: PG for now, but will _eventually_ go up to M.

Sherlock finds it hard to express his feelings for John given his past experiences. He keeps a secret online diary where he posts letters in which he describes his feelings. One day John discovers said diary. That's when everything changes.

Sherlock pretended to stay still, as if deep in contemplation, until John left the flat (shopping and/or social appointments being the usual reasons for this), and then he proceeded to update his diary. This had been going on for a month or so -it was all real contemplation and stillness_before_, before they got romantically involved.

Of course, Sherlock didn't know how to deal with his sudden burst of doubts and needs. He had always regarded such affairs as trivial and unworthy of his attention. "Sentiment is found on the losing side", he'd said to Ms. Adler. _How wrong he had been_. It wasn't that things with John weren't going well. John was wonderful. They were close to what they'd been like before the Fall. After Sherlock's return, John had limited himself to punching him -hard- once. What happened next wasn't something the detective had been able to predict. He remembered it like a movie, as an outer body experience. John had crouched next to him on the ground, and embraced Sherlock for an entire minute. Then he kissed a startled Sherlock on the lips, with his hands on the back of Sherlock's head, pressing lightly onto the dark curls to keep him from fainting or breaking off the kiss. When they finally separated, he'd whispered into his mouth, "Don't you dare pull something like that on me again, you arse".

But that'd been it. Everything else remained as it was before. They slept in their separate bedrooms, as always. John kept taking care of Sherlock, making sure the detective didn't starve, convincing him to sleep once in a while, and tolerating (and sometimes even participating in) his experiments. Some things were new, though. John had abandoned his habit of partaking in the company of the fairer sex (_Good riddance_, Sherlock thought). They'd spend their free weekends watching telly, and sometimes John would lean into Sherlock's shoulder and fall asleep. But that was _it_, and the situation was driving Sherlock mad. He was upset at himself for wanting more out of John after having driven him away on their "first date", during the "Pink" case.

That particular day, _the day when everything changed_, Sherlock was distracted by Lestrade's call. He closed John's laptop shut in a hurry after miss clicking the "close tab" button, and thus, leaving his diary entry on standby, while he bullied Lestrade into giving him the most relevant details in record time. After getting insufficient data from the DI, Sherlock put on his coat and scarf and left the flat, partly because it had been a while since the last case, partly because he craved the distraction. Little did he know that when he came back home he'd find a very confused John Watson. John, who just five minutes after he'd left the house sat in front of the secret diary of Sherlock Holmes.


	2. Letters to John

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

**Chapter 2 ** _John's P.O.V._

John went about his day as usual. Got up, got dressed and made breakfast –for himself and for Sherlock, even though he knew Sherlock wouldn't eat his toast. As he sipped the last of his morning tea, he made a mental note to get more of that Lapsang souchong brew Sherlock'd seemed to like so much.

-I'm going out. Need anything? –he addressed in the detective's direction, knowing beforehand it wasn't likely he'd get an answer.

Sherlock just sat in silence, fingers settled in front of his face in his usual pondering pose. John noticed the striking contrast between the other man's pale complexion and his dark curls, and cursed Sherlock internally for being so handsome. He sighed, got his jacket in a mechanical fashion and thumped down the stairs as always.

He got back to the flat with a handful of groceries, struggling to get the keys into the lock. He managed to get up the stairs into 221b, feeling the burn in his arm muscles (at least he wasn't going to lose muscular tone, this could almost be considered proper exercise) and the pain from the plastic bags digging into his palms. He set down the groceries on the only available square of the counter that wasn't full of "experiments" or scientific supplies and rubbed his shoulder through the fabric. John set the kettle on the stove and then headed towards his discarded laptop on the floor.

-Damn it, Sherlock! –He uttered to himself. Just _how_ _many more times_ would he need to call Sherlock on leaving his laptop lying haphazardly about?

John sighed again, counted backwards from ten and settled in his chair, the computer on his lap. He typed his password in and waited. When he opened the chrome navigator and found a journal entry. Funny, he didn't recall leaving an unsaved blog entry. He looked closer.

-What…?

John kept reading to make sure his eyes didn't fool him, had he read what he thought he was reading? He saved the entry before getting to the archive section of the blog. It was titled "Letters to John", and the author signed _SH_, so there was no room for doubt. This was _Sherlock's_ blog.

A secret blog.

Addressed to John.

In letter form.

His name was on the title.

_Oh, God. _

John pondered for a while whether he should read it or not, but in the end curiosity got to the best of his judgment, and he started reading it in chronological order. There weren't many entries, and most of them weren't _that _long. He started the first letter, dated from a month or so.

_Dear John,_

_I'm consumed by sentiment and tribulation while trying to plaster my innermost feelings and thoughts in these letters, knowing all the while that these will not reach you…_

-Okay… -John moved in place, fidgeting, nervous at Sherlock's hidden intensity. Was it really Sherlock, _Sherlock_, who'd written this? He kept reading.Maybe it was an experiment of some sort.

_And I'm certain that they will never do because I'll make sure of it._

John ignored a sudden pang of guilt upon reading that last phrase, but kept going nonetheless.

_How could I ever express these matters to you, whom I adore with all my heart? _

Nah, Sherlock _would never_ write something like this, John chuckled and dismissed all doubts of the contrary.

_Pardon the use of this common metaphor, implied-reader-John, but my physiological responses to these feelings force me to apply it in this case, in lack of a more original one at hand. _

_Oh blimey_. Sherlock had written this. _Shit, shit, shit_. John was freaking out. He got up to turn off the stove and tried to keep a hold of himself.

It wasn't _bad_ that Sherlock was in love with him. John was in love with Sherlock as well. He'd _kissed_ the man after their reunion (and after a well deserved punch), but he never thought things could be headed in the direction John knew they were going. Theirs was, or so John thought up until now, a _clean_, _aseptic_, asexual relationship. John thought that was the way Sherlock wanted it to be. All the evidence for that was there in plain sight! The whole Irene Adler affair didn't even make Sherlock blink once (John had felt pleased at that). Even after their kiss, Sherlock had limited himself to looking at him with a surprised expression, and that was it.

**Wasn't it?**

John kept reading the letter.

_I regret having used the expressions I used during our first meal together at Angelo's (some would call that a date, but you and I know different). What I said was entirely true at the time, but now I would like an opportunity to rephrase. Relationships are not my area (this hidden letters are proof enough of this). Even so, I would like them to be so I could share all this with you. "It's always been you", as I've heard the pop reference goes. I want more of you, John. I want all of you. _

_Who are you trying to fool, Holmes, this is ridiculous._

The entry ended abruptly, but John spotted a note at the end.

_Edit: This has been somewhat successful in helping me control and organize my thoughts. Must update regularly, fight the impulses that suggest otherwise._

_-SH_

John suffered a mild heart-attack.

_That_, as shocking as it had been, had not prepared him in the least with what he was going to have to deal with in later entries.


	3. The jumper extraction

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

It came out shorter than what I originally intended, but I'm saving some for the next chapter.

**Chapter 3 **(_Still John's P.O.V_)

_Dearest John,_

_In my dreams I press my lips against yours until they're reddened by the friction. I'm not familiar with the sensation, but I can only imagine discomfort mixed with adrenaline (that numbs said feeling slightly, as you may know, you're a doctor after all)._

_No, it's not good. Quite "a bit not good", as you may have said at some point. Or not, I can't remember. Scratch that, I'll try again._

_John,_

_I had an erotic dream about you. I wanted to dismiss it right away, as I used to do, but I wasn't able to. This happened three days ago. It triggered an unforeseeable response on my part, and I will inform you of such. _

John didn't know how to feel about that, so he calculated the difference between the entry date and those 'three days'. That left him with the day Sherlock acted a bit stranger than usual (strange enough for John to remember: he'd slept until noon and asked what John had planned for lunch). That was also the day his favourite jumper had gone missing. When he'd asked Sherlock about it, he just stared at him like he'd always done, but John could have sworn that the detective's eyes displayed an unreadable emotion, if just for a split second. That'd been three weeks ago.

This was definitely _not good._

_I woke up flustered and needed to feel close to you, so I stole a piece of clothing that, as you may recall, has been missing ever since._

-You bastard! –yelled John at the computer, unable to stop reading what followed.

_I'd done some research on sexual behaviour, but since it was a topic that didn't interest me at all, I deleted the information. So, what was I to do with the element at hand?_

-Not wank with it! –John muttered expectantly.

_I wanked with it._

John growled loudly. It was his _favourite jumper_, for Christ's sake! He felt like throwing the computer out the window, and then finding Sherlock so he could punch him harder this time.

_Well, I didn't actually wank with it, mind you. Though it occurred to me that maybe that would have been the preferred alternative for someone else. Direct contact would only be the cause of swelling and chaffing, and I needed to act normally around you. Couldn't have sat in an entirely different position, for even you might suspect something. _

-He wanks with my jumper and then has the nerve to denigrate my intellect, _great._

And that's when John felt the sound of keys downstairs. He collected himself as best as he could for what he knew would follow.

_Sherlock's P.O.V._

Sherlock was annoyed, mostly at himself, for not being able to predict that this had been yet another boring, simple case. He pointed out the name of the killer as soon as he crossed Lestrade's threshold, and vanished. At least he'd managed to sneak past some innocent passerby and pocket a cigarette. He'd found himself in urgent need of one after his most recent discovery.

He pushed the door to find an empty living room. _Odd._ John should have been back by now. Sherlock removed his scarf and moved towards the kitchen.

Groceries occupied some space on the counter, and there was a lonely cup of tea abandoned next to John's chair. John's laptop was gone.

There came a sudden realization.

-Oh.

Sherlock abandoned his confident and calmed demeanor and raced up the stairs to John's room.

He knocked three times on the door, trying to keep desperation out of his voice (but failing miserably).

-John!

There was no response. He tried again.

-John, I—

Sherlock needed to get John out of his room, away from the incriminating laptop. Maybe he'd been on time. Maybe John hadn't read anything. Maybe the blog—

The door opened with a creak to reveal a disheveled looking doctor.

John stared at him. Sherlock assumed he'd said something, but he didn't catch it.

-I'm…

He noticed the closed laptop on one side of the bed.

John wasn't wearing a jumper, for once. _Did that mean…?_ John walked back a few steps into his bedroom, opening the door wider as an invitation.

-Actually, I'm glad you're back.

Sherlock squinted his eyes as he usually did when he was trying to figure out something.

-I've been looking for my blue jumper for _ages _–John made a hand gesture to indicate he'd been searching in his room.

Sherlock felt ill

He continued.

–You know what? I bet I know what happened to it.

_Oh God, oh God, Oh…_

John smiled and whispered into his ear.

Sherlock swallowed. John's breath tickled his ear. He must have been blushing, because his face was hot.


	4. Realization

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

Note: Sorry for taking a bit longer to publish this next part (real life got in the way _). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. There's still more to come!

**Chapter 4 **

_John's P.O.V._

_5 minutes earlier_

Yes, he ran. No, he wasn't a coward.

John realized he needed _at least_ five more minutes to compose himself, while thinking up a plan of action. Sherlock had a whole new different side he wasn't sharing with John, and that could impact their relationship in the long run. Also, he was still mad about his computer lying on the floor and about his stolen (and probably ruined) jumper.

As soon as he felt the familiar steps on the stairwell, he picked up his computer and ran all the way up to his room. He paced inside his refuge, and turned his laptop on.

He knew he didn't have much time left. Sherlock would have probably gone into _panic mode_ by now. The detective was smart enough to deduct that John was in the flat by the state of the furniture and the abandoned cup of tea. He would also deduct that something had altered their routine because John was nowhere in sight, whereas in a normal situation he'd be downstairs watching telly.

So, that's how John would play it.

Sherlock would _pay_ for what he'd done to his jumper.

There was someone knocking at his door frantically.

-John!

John messed up his hair by latching on to it with both hands in an attempt to calm down. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, paced some more and had a brilliant idea. He removed his current jumper and tossed it out the window.

-John, I—

He opened the door, interrupting the other man but not saying anything. John had been thrilled to find a very fidgety Sherlock at his door. He didn't feel nervous upon seeing the dark haired man for the first time since the discovery of the secret diary. John felt relaxed, and up for some mild teasing. He tried to keep a straight face at Sherlock's blatant nervous state, and just stared, hoping to catch the other man's hilarious reactions (Sherlock seemed to be trembling slightly, and looked paler than usual, but his eyes showed a mix of embarrassment and panic) to a full extent.

-I'm… -Sherlock started, but John cut him off. _Off to the next part_, he thought.

John was on the verge of cracking up at Sherlock's puzzlement upon seeing the door open a little wider, giving him room to enter. _That's your cue to enter, dummy, _he tried to direct at the other man with only his eyes and an almost imperceptible head movement.

-Actually, I'm glad you're back.

Sherlock squinted his eyes, and John could almost picture his privileged brain working at full capacity. John dared not breathe, lest he burst into laughter at any given moment. _Time for the kill._

-I've been looking for my blue jumper for _ages._

_Oh God, Oh God, John, you're going straight to hell for this. _

Sherlock's mortified look was _priceless_. The detective's eyes darted directly to the computer lying on the bed.

_Sherlock, you're giving away all the evidence,_ John scolded in his mind.

John smiled and walked towards the taller man. –You know what? I bet I know what happened to it.

They were almost pressed up together as John leaned in to whisper in the other man's ear.

John heard a loud gulp, and tried to cut Sherlock some slack by offering him an easy way out.

-I bet Mrs. Hudson took it.

Maybe he'd resume his games later.

_Sherlock's P.O.V._

Sherlock almost tripped. John _couldn't have possibly_ read his blog if he thought Mrs. Hudson was the "jumper thief". He was safe, at least for now, he figured.

Sherlock regained some of his usual composure as stared down at John with icy blue eyes. The atmosphere changed.

–Now that you _mention_ it… I recall having noticed some signs that point to a possible infatuation towards the man from the dry cleaner's.

John gasped. -You don't say…?

Sherlock assumed a new character. He imitated a gossipy old lady friend of Mrs. Hudson. He even copied her gestures, placing a hand close to his mouth as he lowered his voice.

-She's changed her regular perfume, and has increased the frequency in which she wears red. It has something to do with subliminal messages and mating behaviour.

-Yes, I recall your little Christmas lesson, Sherlock.

-I'd forgotten about that.

Sherlock seized that chance to turn around, feigning guilt at the memory of his unfortunate interaction with Molly Hooper. Molly was, of course, over it, and Sherlock knew it, so he didn't beat himself up about it anymore. But John_ didn't know _that. He seized that chance to put some distance between them, and figured that he could make an easy escape.

-Anyway… I just wanted to let you know we've been invited to a social event, and I needed your opinion on the attendance issue.

-_Social event_? You mean… someone has actually _invited_ you into their home?

Sherlock let out a sigh. –We have been invited to DI Lestrade's home for, um, a socially conventional event.

John arched an eyebrow. –A party?

He nodded. –One could be so inclined to name it that way. Then again…

-Who would dare invite Sherlock Holmes to a party, I see your point.

-Exactly. –He cleared his throat. After a pause, he added -Let me know if you'd be interested, otherwise we could think up some kind of acceptable excuse.

With that, Sherlock turned around and exited the room.


	5. The party

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

Thank you for your support! I'm blown away by it, seriously _**:hugs everyone:**_

I'll try even harder to deliver a cool story!

**Chapter 5 – The party**

_John's P.O.V._

John would have helped out Sherlock under any other circumstance, but he still was sour from the jumper extraction. That was the main reason behind them being stuck in an awkward situation that particular Friday night. Anderson sunk on the couch as far away from them as he possibly could and Donovan did her best to avoid them, hiding in the kitchen under any pretext. Lestrade was enjoying this as much as John (his eyes sparkled perhaps a little too much for having drunk so little). John suspected it was partly because the DI was amused they'd shown up at all.

The rest of the police department arrived at once an hour later. While that eased up some of the tension from before, it changed the energy of the room, and John could tell Sherlock was in pain (he had begun drinking).

The real mystery was why Sherlock had endured so much without whining even once.

_Sherlock's P.O.V._

Sherlock considered small talk really _dull_ per se, but this night's current topics ranged from crappy tv shows to office gossip. _B-o-r-i-n-g._ He just wanted to bolt before it got to the point they'd have to leave after a fight (or something of the sort).

John was laughing at Officer Jerry's joke. Sherlock yawned and he decided that enough was enough. He attempted to drown his glass of wine, but it was empty. How _odd_. He poured himself another glass, feeling John's eyes on him. That made him spill a little wine on the coffee table.

Sherlock muttered a curse under his breath and felt a rush of heat in the face. John and Officer Jerry were done talking. The doctor had scrambled to his side and now helped him clean up with some paper napkins. Their hands brushed and Sherlock pulled away graciously, averting his eyes. John smiled at him.

-Enjoying the party?

_Smug bastard._ -I'm_ bursting _with excitement –he rolled his eyes at John.

Somehow he had ended up alone in a dark room. Normally, Sherlock could have deducted which room it was, but it took him a long time to process all the data. He was lying down on top of something that altered his otherwise usual sleeping position. He pressed his palms to the fabric beneath, literally grasping for information.

Wool.

Leather.

Fur?

No, faux fur.

Apparently, he was lying on top of all of the guest's coats.

Something stirred in the dark. He attempted to move, but his limbs were slow and clumsy–alcohol could be blamed for his sudden dizziness as well, it seemed. Sherlock waited.

-Are you awake? –asked John's voice. The mattress sunk a few centimeters from the doctor's weight shift. John was now closer, looking back directly at him, though he probably couldn't make out his forms. Sherlock's eyes were just adjusting to the darkness.

-I'm _conscious_, if that's what you're asking.

Things had been weird those past couple of days. Sherlock was 89% sure that John had no idea about his personal blog's existence. The level of personal gain John could exploit from said information varied according to his opinion towards his letters, but Sherlock couldn't figure out a reason why the other man would keep it to himself if he indeed suspected something, _therefore_, John was still clueless. All evidence pointed straight to that conclusion.

-They were talking about creating a _Youtube_ account called "The Official Drunk Sherlock". I couldn't stop them from filming you while you were passed out.

-How original.

-I told them you'd say that.

-I wouldn't have started drinking if they weren't so… dull.

-I also told them you—

-I get the picture.

He sat up and continued after a brief pause. –It's all your fault, John.

-_My_ fault?

-I believe I provided you with the choice to decline this invitation.

John scoffed. –It just so happens that I wished to attend.

-Really? On the very night your favourite movie was on? I checked the guide.

-I'd… -he heard John suck in his breath – Actually, I'd forgotten about that. But, hey! I'm still_ upset_, in case you haven't noticed, you arse.

John's voice had raised almost imperceptibly, but enough for Sherlock to notice it. Outside, people were still talking loudly and laughing.

_Did John…? _

_No. Impossible._

John carried on, interrupting his thoughts.

-You're going to have to compensate me in some way for that ruined jumper.


	6. Choices

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

A lot happens in this chapter. I'll just leave you to it and include a note at the end. Thanks again for your support. Feel free to comment on anything that catches your eye (any feedback is much appreciated!), or things you'd like seeing in upcoming chapters.

**Chapter 6**

_No_…

-Hello? Earth to Sherlock?

The taller man froze. He had three choices.

He could try to muster all of his strength make a run for it (and risk falling flat on his face or being tackled by John, who would probably be inclined to prevent him from leaving),

He could feign ignorance on the issue as he had before, blaming it all on the alcohol (John would have to believe him… at the very least Sherlock could buy some time to come up with new options), or…

Sherlock could _actually_ confess his feelings for John.

So, Sherlock settled for all three.

-What jumper?

Thank God it was dark; otherwise John would have noticed the unusual tint on his cheeks.

John wasn't fooled -I think we're past _that_ point, Sherlock.

_Plan B_.

Sherlock got up in a flash, attempted to run and tripped on a fallen coat. His escape was frustrated by the doctor, who had him pinned to the floor. This happened in a matter of seconds.

-Oi! Don't you dare leave!

Sherlock huffed and tried to shake John off. He could see the door… He could wriggle free and run all the way to 221b or Africa or somewhere else far, far away, whatever was more convenient.

-Y-you do realize we need to talk about this at some point? –John panted, trying to keep him still.

Fighting was useless. They'd have to re-evaluate their tacit relationship contract one way or another.

-I'm sorry, I'm afraid you're right. I took your jumper. Forgive me.

That really took John by surprise, Sherlock could tell by the noise he just made.

They were so focused on the matter at hand, that they almost didn't notice when Donovan turned on the light, saw them lying on the floor and fled.

John finally released the detective from his death grip and sat up.

-Was that…?

Sherlock wasn't amused. His eyes were adjusting to the sudden brightness.

–Probably half of the Police department thinks we're drunk snogging by now, at the very least. I give them a minute or two before they come through the door and try to snatch a few photographs.

-What should we do?

Sherlock rubbed his eyes. –The way I see it, we have two choices. We could face them or run.

John chuckled. –I'm leaning towards fleeing, but that'd probably spark up the rumors.

-We could come up with some middle ground, you know?

The members of the Police department smirked upon seeing the duo emerge from the room. Donovan and Anderson were whispering in a corner, eyeing them and laughing.

Sherlock tapped Lestrade on the shoulder with a grin plastered on his face.

-Congratulations on so many years of service.

With that, Sherlock shook the surprised DI's hand and motioned John to come closer.

John took the hint, and also shook Lestrade's hand.

-Yes, thanks for having us over.

Sherlock cleared his throat.

-Of course, we apologize for any inconvenience… -he glared at Donovan, and she froze on the spot –I've meant no disrespect.

Lestrade finally dazed out of his stupor –I-I have no idea what you're talking about.

John put on his coat, and then helped Sherlock get into his own.

-You'll certainly have heard something by the end of the night –John assured him –It's a misunderstanding, but as soon as we figure it out we'll clear it up straight away.

That last part was clearly directed at Sherlock, who noticed this and blushed, managing to nod before running off. John sighed, patted Lestrade on the shoulder and followed.

Sherlock couldn't wait until they got home to face John, so he texted him while they were still in the cab.

John didn't notice what Sherlock was doing beside him, as he was glancing out the cab window, trying to collect his thoughts… So the first text surprised him. John fished his phone from his coat pocket and almost let it drop to the ground in frustration.

_How did you know about the jumper? SH_

The detective figured it was almost useless to ask, but he kept praying that it wasn't due to the knowledge of his blog.

John counted backwards from ten before responding.

-I found your blog.

John's direct –spoken- response took the detective by surprise, which caused Sherlock to blush a furious shade of crimson.

_Oh no…_

His first reaction was to bury his face under the welcoming layers of coat and scarf, but the doctor's warm hands on his cheeks prevented him from doing so.

-Hey! Look at me.

And Sherlock did.

-I'm not mad or freaked out or anything of the sort. I was having a bit of fun… Revenge, or something of the sort. But I do think we need to talk about this.

John leaned in and kissed his nose. –I'm sorry –he whispered, and planted another kiss on Sherlock's right cheek.

John's displays of affection indicated him that the doctor felt something for him. He surely must. **But the blog…** John knew about the blog!

Sherlock wanted to crawl under his bed and cover himself with blankets until the world ended.

And so he did, while John was preoccupied with setting the kettle.

-_Sherlock!_

John turned up the flame and set the kettle, then dashed into Sherlock's room before the latter could lock the door.

John tried to pry the blankets off him to no avail.

-This is ridiculous.

-Leave me alone!

John sat down on the other side of Sherlock's bed.

-There's nothing to be embarrassed about!

-Of course there is. CHRIST, JOHN! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LEARN TO KEEP UP?

John's little experiment paid off, as he'd managed to get the detective out of his cocoon. Sherlock was sitting up, shaking from his sudden outburst, shame apparently overpowered by frustration.

And Sherlock seemed to realize it himself.

-Actually John, I believe you're the one who wronged me.

John laughed, until he realized the other man was serious.

-And how exactly have I wronged you?

Sherlock got up and paced, thinking for a few seconds before pointing an accusing finger out to John.

-You've invaded my privacy.

John gasped. Whatever sympathy he felt for the other man was clearly thrown out the window –You can't seriously mean that?

-You chose to trespass my boundaries. You read private blog entries.

He lost track of his anger somewhere between ten and nine, and just spat it out.

-BUT THEY WERE ADDRESSED TO ME!

Sherlock refused to be yelled at.

-THEY WERE PASSWORD PROTECTED!

-YOU—! YOU WERE TYPING THEM IN MY COMPUTER!

Sherlock panted, he wasn't used to be involved in shouting matches. He backed off a little, seeing that they'd come so close in anger.

-And your point _is_…?

John nearly ripped his hair out.

-MY COMPUTER IS PASSWORD PROTECTED!

-We've had this argument before, as I recall.

-Then stop using my computer to type out your secret love letters!

Sherlock blushed and looked away before John could continue.

-Or better yet! Just trust me enough to talk about your feelings! Sherlock!

They were out of the anger zone now.

John took his hand. –Hey!

Sherlock let his defenses drop.

–_Fine._ I should start by pointing out that I'm ashamed you've read those aberrations –he shuddered, and looked away once more - My physical responses –and _yours_- elevated heart rate, pupil dilation, _etcetera, _indicate that we are _indeed_ attracted to one another. What confuses me, I'm shamed to admit, is that instead of feeling relieved I feel exactly the opposite.

-That's normal. I should have worried more about your feelings instead of that awful jumper.

Sherlock cringed at the mention of the garment, but John rubbed his hand in reassurance –It's too soon to bring that up, I'm sorry! Let's talk about something else.

They sat on the bed until they decided it was awkward and moved to the living room.

Once settled on their own chairs, they proceeded.

John started -We have been through a lot together.

-What, with the criminal consultant, the near death experiences and fake suicide…

-Exactly –John nodded. –Especially your prolonged absence…

Sherlock grimaced.

John carried on -I guess that gave me the opportunity to put things in perspective. When I thought you were gone… -they both seemed reluctant to think about those dark days, so he powered through -Of course, my previous experiences helped me sort out my feelings for you. You on the other hand—

-I remain clueless, as you may have deducted from the appalling letters I attempted to write.

-At least you've managed to deduct that your feelings are romantic.

-Are yours?

-Yes.

That seemed to turn Sherlock into his usual self.

-Then maybe we should set a few ground rules –there was a special glint in his eye.

-Agreed –John smiled.

Note

I liked the transition between embarrassed!Sherlock (more OOC) and usual!Sherlock. I think his insecurities would rely more on the fact that he is inexperienced and not used to sex (he states he's not repelled by it in "A Scandal in Belgravia", but I think he meant the _idea_ of sex… not actual intimacy, which brings in a lot more factors into the issue). Of course, I think he would revert back to normal and start making a list of rules (_a la_ Sheldon Cooper). Maybe later on, when he's more experienced he'll _demand_ certain things from John, lulz, and that'll be even closer to canon.


	7. The rules

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

Double post, hooray!

I wrote all day. I want this week to be gone! I have my final exam (thesis presentation) on Monday and I haven't prepared a thing. The next update should be delayed by this IRL drama, lol. I'll try to have another chapter up soon, but I can't promise to have it until then. So, yeah… Double post, but it has that string attached.

On with the chapter (there's a big of kissing and snogging by the end as a reward for your patience).

* * *

**Chapter 7**

**The rules, or the chapter in which the jumper extraction is explained**

John was certain now that he hadn't known what he was getting into. He remembered their conversation a week ago. They'd settled for a few simple rules then, but Sherlock had felt forced to add more during the last couple of days.

John had written them all down in a private blog entry.

_A week ago_

They'd been sitting in the living room.

-Our feelings are of the romantic nature, Sherlock repeated.

-That would make us… a _couple_?

Sherlock was deep in thought -We could write that down, 'We are a couple until one of the participating parties decides to re-evaluate this present relationship contract'.

-That's kind of… -John chuckled- That statement is usually implied.

-Not good?

-No, yes, it's perfect. Leave no place for doubt –John picked up his computer and wrote the first rule on a word document.

_1. We are a couple until we expressly state that we aren't anymore._

John looked up to find that Sherlock was staring at him. –Is something the matter?

-_Exclusivity._

John felt warm inside. He was cherishing a few thoughts –concerning Sherlock and possessiveness, or the detective's unnoticed jealousy- internally, but his pause sent Sherlock into alarm mode, and he began fidgeting. John noticed and put his out of his misery with a smile.

-Of course.

He felt Sherlock relax back into place.

-Well, I wasn't sure if you'd comply with that.

-Why wouldn't I?

-I can name at least seven reasons why not.

-Like…?

-Do you want me to recall each of their names? Maybe I could sing to the tune of Santa's reindeer's song.

-Oh, _behave_! I was with them one at a time!

_2. We are in an exclusive relationship._

Sherlock seemed displeased, so John had to ask –What's wrong?

Sherlock was cradling his knees, feet on the couch as usual. –I don't understand.

John waited for him to come to terms with his feelings.

-I don't understand this feeling.

-What do you feel?

-At ease, we are establishing a contract that will make our everyday lives easier from now on, but at the same time…

-You're the one who brought up my ex-girlfriends!

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but didn't deny it.

-Is this what jealousy is supposed to feel like?

It'd been all a blur of events. John remembered things more clearly now.

How he'd almost dropped the computer in his hurry to get over to Sherlock. He reached his hands to cup the other man's face and kissed him like there was no tomorrow, a bit forcefully at first, kindled by the fact that he'd been the subject of Sherlock's jealousy. John broke their kiss to stare down at his boyfriend's flushed face. Their angles were awkward, given that Sherlock was still hunched on his seat, and John had to lean into their kiss while standing up.

-Sherlock, your knees are in my way. I can't hug you properly like this –said John, unsure of where to place his hands for balance, or sit.

The detective's blush grew a shade darker.

–I, uhm, can't lower them because of… reasons.

John was amused. Sherlock was clearly trying to hide a sign of his arousal.

–What's wrong? –he teased.

Sherlock saw right through it and didn't reply. And that was it. John laughed so hard he had to grab onto something for support (he picked the shelf above fireplace).

-It's _not_ funny.

-I-I'm sorry –he let out between a few tears. –I'm just very happy for us. I didn't know you wanted this. Well, the letters made it _quite_ clear –Sherlock hunched lower on his chair- but I'm relieved you really want all of me.

-Why wouldn't I? –Sherlock's eyes glistened.

-I thought that maybe you were confusing things, given your lack of experience in these matters. John sat on Sherlock's armchair and caressed his face, putting his other hand on Sherlock's knee.

-But I'm not.

-I know that now.

John kissed him again. He'd let his hand wander down to Sherlock's waist.

-John…

Sherlock's eyes spoke of his emotions. John recognized contradicting emotions, feelings Sherlock would probably be struggling to understand. So he offered a way out of that situation, at least for now.

-Do you want to continue writing up that list?

-There are a few more rules I would like to discuss.

John smiled and retrieved his computer.

.What's on your mind?

Sherlock's face was crimson again. **Oh.**

-I'll just come out and say it. As much as it may surprise you, I haven't engaged in physical relations with anyone in my life.

John considered it for a second. –Nah, I kind of figured that ages ago.

Sherlock gaped at him.

-Come on, Sherlock. You haven't had a relationship in your life, you've said so yourself! And quite frankly, you don't seem like you'd pick a random stranger from a bar to get laid.

-Point taken.

-Do you want to make a rule out of it?

-Yes.

-What would you want to discuss?

-We're both healthy grown men.

-Yes?

-And you obviously _need to_, well— Sherlock cut himself off, averted his eyes and continued -Judging by your dating history with dull but conventionally attractive women…

John knew what he was getting at; he just wanted to hear it from Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock made a point to look at him in the eye -You _enjoy_ sex.

This time, it was John's turn to look away -Well, I haven't met anyone who doesn't.

-It's not a bad thing, but I'm not sure if sex is for me.

John felt confused, and Sherlock could see that, so he carried on with his reasoning.

-I'm not saying I don't want to try it, I just don't know what it's like.

-But you wanked with my jumper.

Sherlock went white as a sheet, which in his case, was just two shades paler, John thought.

-I haven't forgotten about that Sherlock.

Sherlock regained his composure –Let me explain!

-I'm listening.

-I didn't actually go through it.

John didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Cry at Sherlock's mortification over the whole issue, sympathetically.

-You wrote that—

-I _may _have embellished the actual events. You see, I did wake up flustered after that particular dream I mentioned. I retrieved your jumper and took it to my room.

-And then?

Sherlock bit his lip.

-I hugged the jumper to oblivion.

John's heart broke. Sherlock was too cute for his own sake. He couldn't refuse the urge to hug the taller man. He made a note to do so more often.

-Want to make a rule about how much I need to hug you?

Sherlock didn't say anything, but ended up nodding.

_3. It is our duty to hug every so often. _

_At least once a day (amount of hugs up for discussion, but at least once a day)._

John knew what he needed to say. He closed the laptop shut and moved it out of his way. He stared into Sherlock's eyes and took his hand between his own.

-We don't need to do anything—

Sherlock cut him off, protesting –But John! I want to! I assure you I—

-Let me finish! We don't need to do anything until you're ready.

-Thank you for understanding.

-Of course.

_A week later_

That following Monday, Sherlock had worked on an experiment. Things were as they had been. Each buried in their own business. John had run down to the store to get more tea and biscuits, and Sherlock remained in the flat.

When he came back, he found no trace of Sherlock, so John assumed he'd been phoned and that Sherlock would fill him in later by text. Sherlock arrived late at night and just flopped down on the couch and dozed off. John had eventually woken him, and helped Sherlock to get into bed.

The next day, John had woken up to an empty flat. He made himself some breakfast and left for the clinic. When he arrived home, Sherlock was still working on his previous experiment.

-John, I got your jumper cleaned.

-Thank you? I thought it didn't need… cleaning.

-No, but I thought it was the conventionally enforced thing to do.

-Thanks.

On Wednesday, they had some potential clients over. Sherlock had dismissed all of them, having solved a few dilemmas with barely a few questions asked. John thought there had been at least one case worth looking over, but Sherlock wouldn't hear of it.

It wasn't until Friday that John was absolutely certain that something was up. He confronted Sherlock, only to find that the other man had things in his mind as well.

-I've felt free to come up with a few possible rules to add to the three we already have.

-That's what you've been up to?

The dark haired man resumed his labour, leaving John to review the list.

_Rules_

_4. We shall share a room. The spare bedroom could serve as a storage room, or have other uses (must look into that possibility)._

That sounded quite reasonable. Maybe they could manage a slow, smooth transition.

_5. John will be required to quit his job._

John protested –**What?** Why?

Sherlock glanced in his direction for a second before going back to his microscope.

-It may prove distracting.

-Distracting me from what?

Sherlock sighed. –As always, I'm not surprised at our lack of insight.

Then it hit him.

-You want me to stay at home and do nothing but be available to you?

Sherlock fixed his eyes on his shoes. –Not good?

-Damn right it's not good!

-You strike me more as the traditional type of person. I thought you'd be delighted by the possibility to run the house.

-RUN THE HOUSE?

At that point, Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. Apparently, John had been a little too loud.

-Boys, what…?

John had no control over his emotions. –Mrs. Hudson, Sherlock wants me converted into housewife.

Mrs. Hudson looked shocked. –Sherlock! John loves his job. How could you ask him to give it up?

-My point exactly! Wait, what?

Mrs. Hudson was onto them all along? Well, she had always implied they were a couple before, but how had she known they were together now?

-Mrs. Hudson, did you know about us? –John just had to ask.

The landlady nodded -Sherlock came by the other day asking for advice, and he had to fill me in, so—

Sherlock sprung from his chair, interrupting the old lady –Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. I've seen the error of my ways! We need to figure some things out, if you'll excuse us –He escorted her to the door and closed it behind her.

John smirked. –Advice, huh?

Sherlock paced, avoiding John's eyes. –It was all her idea.

-What?

-She made up that last rule.

-What for?

Sherlock stopped pacing. –Data, of course.

-Why didn't you just ask me if I wanted to stay at home, instead of suggesting I quit my job? I think it's too sudden to be thinking about that anyway, but...

Then it dawned on him. –Sherloooock…

-Yes?

-What's the real reason behind this?

-I wanted to know if you saw yourself in that particular gender role.

-What?

Sherlock shushed him. John lowered his voice –_Gender role_?

-You take care of me anyway, and I thought that maybe you'd like to stay at home –helping me in my cases, like you do now- and… take care of _us_?

John stared at Sherlock's posture (a bit embarrassed, somewhat expecting). _Us? What?_

-You wanted to know if I'd be the mummy or daddy to our _nonexistent_ _kids_?

-And…

-If I wanted to dominate in the bedroom?

Sherlock blushed a new furious shade of red. –That's a lousy way to put it, but not entirely off.

John rubbed his temples -Where are you getting all this from?

-Research.

-Is that what you've been doing?

-The library has the most varied selection of bibliography on these subjects.

-So you just looked up 'Gay relationships, how do they work?' in the catalogue and gathered up a few books and magazines?

-Pretty much –Sherlock admitted a bit grudgingly.

-I have a new rule for you: 'Ask John before doing things' –John sighed –I'll continue later, right now I've got to lie down. He pushed Sherlock out of the way. John stopped when he noticed he was being followed –By myself!

That night he felt Sherlock slip into bed and curl up next to him. John didn't protest.

-John.

It was 3 am. He felt like strangling Sherlock, but John regretted that thought when he heard the next sentence.

-John, I want to try something.

Sherlock was in his usual bedtime attire, but something was different about him. John felt himself getting excited with anticipation. It was the first time they were together like this, at night, in John's room.

Sherlock had taken shower. His skin still emanated the heat from the vapor, but his hair was wet and cold -John could feel those slight changes in temperature from their proximity.

John turned around to face his boyfriend. They were lying face to face. Sherlock closed the gap between them with a timid kiss, placing a hand on John's hip.

John was wide awake and torn between asking and keeping quiet. He didn't want to risk ruining the atmosphere. Sherlock's eyes caught the light coming from the window. He looked decided but nervous. John wondered what his eyes would look like, and what they'd tell the other man.

It was nice, just lying there facing each other, but Sherlock must have had other things in mind. John didn't want to rush into anything, so he just waited.

-This is driving me insane.

-What is?

-I don't know what to do. I mean, _I know_, I've _read_ about it, but—

-Do you want me to take the lead?

-I'd appreciate it.

That was all John needed. He started by embracing Sherlock and stroking his hair while they kissed. Things got heated pretty quickly. John was suddenly too aware about the fact that their bodies were pressed up against one another. He could feel Sherlock's slender frame. He'd always taken Sherlock for a skinny bloke, but now he discovered –with some level of excitement- the other man's toned condition. John let his hands roam freely, grasping and groping at Sherlock's body.

-Mmm –John mumbled into Sherlock's neck, and felt the other man shudder. He placed a kiss on the smooth skin below the ear and was rewarded with a sigh. John liked hearing those sounds coming from the usually composed detective, so he insisted on the area, licking and nipping at Sherlock's graceful neck.

-J-John!

-Yes? –John asked, but didn't stop his actions.

Sherlock found himself at a loss for words for the first time in his life. He moaned softly when John focused on his collarbone.

Sherlock felt himself being rolled over and now he lay flat on his back. John pressed his body to his and put some of his weight onto Sherlock's frame.

–Do you want to draw the line at a full-on snogging session?

-And what does that include?

-Everything leading up to and including what the Americans call 'Second base'.

Sherlock didn't follow. –Enlighten me on the subject.

John propped himself up on his elbows. He kissed Sherlock a few times before tugging on Sherlock's shirt –This has to go.

John remembered how he had felt as an adolescent at the thirty minute mark. There was no pressure to go further. He simply enjoyed the ride. Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself as well. Time passed as Sherlock experimented a few moves on him.

John felt happy, so he started teasing.

-Are your lips "reddened by the friction" yet?

-You tell me -Sherlock pulled John into another deep kiss. This time something was different. The detective had recognized the phrase flaunted at him by John, who'd read it on his diary, so now he fought John for dominance.

John could tell Sherlock was gaining confidence. He'd left a few love bites in John's neck and shoulders.

-I didn't know you suffered from vampiric tendencies.

Sherlock smirked –It's your fault. You've opened Pandora's box.

-So it seems.

John yawned and glanced at the clock on his bedside table.

-We should sleep now… I need to go to the clinic today.

-You should just quit –Sherlock hugged John.

-We're not having this discussion at 4 am. Stay with me, though.

Sherlock beamed at him and nestled closer to his doctor, putting his arms around him.

-Good night, John.

-Good night.


	8. John's day off part I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

I'm back! I didn't get much writing done these past couple of days because everything's been so chaotic (with the graduation, celebrations and such), but I wanted to leave a small chappie anyway, to show you how devoted I am to this fic. A bit of fluff ahead.

**Chapter 8 **

John was woken from a pleasant dream by the direct sunlight on his face.

-Wait, the sun?

John struggled to get out of Sherlock's deadly tentacle grasp. He managed to glance at the clock on his bedside drawer. He groaned.

-Sherlock, did you tamper with my alarm while I was asleep?

The detective waved at John and nuzzled his neck. John wouldn't go anywhere that day.

Or so Sherlock intended, but John had other plans.

-You can't just do that, _Jesus_. He sounded genuinely upset.

Sherlock whined.

-Let it go, John. Let's go back to sleep.

He was awoken by a forceful (and ungraceful) shove.

-I have to go deal with the grown-ups now. Thanks a lot, Sherlock! My day's off to a bad start.

* * *

John ended up calling Sarah to ask if she could cover for him. Her response was a tad moodier than John expected.

-I'm already dealing with it, John. _Of course_ I'm delighted to add your patients into my _already busy_ schedule.

-I'll make it up to you, I promise.

-Yeah, yeah.

* * *

John was heading up to his room when he felt Sherlock dashing downstairs.

-We've got a case, John! –beamed the detective, shoving a text from Lestrade to John's tired face.

He grabbed Sherlock's phone from his hand and threw it out the window. Sherlock was just starting to complain, but John silenced him with a glare, grabbing him by his shirt collar.

-You can't go do your stuff if I can't go to work.

-But—

-No. Fair is fair.

-You usually love cases, and—

-Not when I'm this tired and annoyed.

-But the _thrill_, John… You and I both know you're an adrenaline junkie!

-I've got pretty intense things in my mind now, Sherlock.

The taller man blushed at John's choice of words.

-Now, let's go back to bed. I've got the day off.

* * *

All the signs were there. John's cardiac rate, his pupils, the hair at the back of his neck (standing on end). Sherlock wondered if things would go farther than what they'd come to last night, judging by John's physical reactions… He was curious, but a bit uncertain to take that extra step (although that was hard to admit, even to himself).

-John…

He didn't respond. The only sound in the room was that of John's stable breathing.

Sherlock stayed even though he knew John was asleep. He kept still, avoiding to disturb John's precious sleep. So he lay his head on the pillow next to John and observed.

There were so many things he could deduct from John's face alone, but somehow it wasn't enough anymore. Sherlock realized he wanted to hear John tell the story behind every freckle, scar or wrinkle (he had started to get those too).

-It's scary, John. I never knew I could feel this vulnerable.

The doctor didn't budge –he was far off in Stage 2 already- so Sherlock moved closer to him and rested his head on John's (good) shoulder.

* * *

It was about four o'clock when John woke up. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. After a quick visit to the bathroom, he snuck around to the kitchen to fix something up for lunch, even though it was almost time for tea.

He found a tray with lunch already laid out. It was some sort of pancake with his name written in (what seemed like) tomato sauce or ketchup or blood.

It was Sherlock's way of apologizing, John figured.

-Well, it looks edible enough.

John would regret those words the rest of his life.

* * *

Note: I _shall _be updating soon, I just _need _to get them to do more cute/sexy stuff together!


	9. The quarrel

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Sherlock Holmes, but I ship Johnlock freely because I can. The new versions of Sherlock and John Watson M.D. belong to Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss, bless them.

The update took longer than expected. I wasn't pleased with the last chapter, so I thought I needed time to write a better one. Onwards with the story.

**Chapter 9**

Detective Inspector Lestrade had stopped by 221b in hopes of finding Sherlock. The detective hadn't been answering his latest phone calls, and Lestrade had an interesting case that needed solving straight away.

He knocked on the door and greeted Mrs. Hudson with the usual courtesies.

-The boys should be at home, I haven't heard anyone leave the flat. On you go, dear!

-Thank you, Mrs. Hudson.

With that, Lestrade took leave to climb up the flight of stairs. He knocked on the door, but received no reply. _Strange_. After a few more knocks and calls, he came face to face with a very cross looking John.

-Yes?

Lestrade felt himself shrink at John's hostility. He swallowed and stared at John in disbelief. Was that the same kind individual, whom always softened the edges around Sherlock's blunt responses?

-I've got a case, if you're up for it.

That seemed to remove John out of his mood, if only for a second. John sighed and his shoulders seemed to slump a bit.

-You _could_ have phoned –John opened the door wider, but didn't let the DI inside- Now's not a really good time.

Lestrade's jaw dropped.

-I _have_ phoned, _a lot_ actually. It just goes straight into voice mail- he almost didn't want to ask, but he had to -Is Sherlock home? Is everything alright?

John glanced back over his shoulder. The DI could make out the sound of Sherlock's deep voice coming from the kitchen.

John growled back at Sherlock in frustration, motioned Lestrade inside and then disappeared from sight making sure to stomp out of the flat, slamming the door downstairs.

Lestrade arched an eyebrow upon meeting the detective. Sherlock was sitting at his microscope station and didn't look up when Lestrade came into view.

-Well, that was… something –he pointed a thumb over his shoulder to indicate John.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

-The case, Lestrade.

The DI nodded and took his notepad out of his coat pocket. He allowed Sherlock to read for a few seconds before interrupting.

-No, but seriously, what's gotten into John?

Sherlock glared at him and handed back the notepad.

-Your case is boring. Call me when you get a real one.

-B-but, what do you mean boring? It's been driving us nuts over the past few days.

Sherlock scoffed. –Then you've reached a new low. This is child's play. I suppose you interrogated the butler thoroughly before taking him to the station?

-Yes. Look, Sherlock—

-You've got it all wrong –Sherlock went back to his test tubes and plaquettes –It wasn't the butler.

-Then who was it? Are you sure you can solve this before even—

-It was the eldest daughter. She paid off the butler to take the blame. I don't know why, but I'm guessing it has something to do with the inheritance or the fact that they both were fed up with the victim and wanted the money… maybe they were having an affair. Now, go figure it out and stop assuming things.

-I wasn't…

Sherlock stood up to retrieve a vial from the fridge, not before making eye contact with the DI.

-Okay, so, I'll shut up. You tell me about it.

Sherlock stopped in his tracks and fidgeted a bit.

-I don't suppose you're the one with all the answers.

Lestrade blinked. –What kind of answers are you looking for?

-This could take a while -Sherlock moved around the kitchen and turned the kettle on. He made a hand gesture towards a stool -You better take a sit.

They were on their third cup of tea by the time Sherlock finished his story.

-I've always wanted to say this to you, and don't take it the wrong way, but Sherlock, you are _so_ wrong.

-_How_ am I wrong exactly? I did everything the manual said should be done in this sort of situation.

Lestrade tried to repress a sudden burst of laughter.

-"Manual"? First of all, that's your first mistake. Don't ever believe that everything can be solved with books alone.

-It's worked in every other area.

-Yes, but Sherlock, relationships are more complex than that.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but didn't argue.

-Now, your second mistake was not talking to John straight away. You need to sit down and have a proper talk. I thought you'd done that already, what, with the "rules" thing?

-We didn't cover everything that day. A-and I was taken by surprise! It's all Mycroft's fault.

Lestrade helped himself to another biscuit –You should know your own family by now. You knew that this day would come eventually.

-I never thought it possible before John. Also, we've been in a relationship for a few weeks, and my research indicated that he wasn't near ready to meet my family just yet.

-I think John would follow you into the fiery depths of Hell itself, the poor man.

Sherlock's eyes softened at that. He took a sip from his already cooling cup of tea and cleared his throat to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of John's arrival. The DI set his cup down and moved swiftly to the door, taking that as a cue to leave. He needed to interrogate the daughter and butler anyway.

He turned towards Sherlock before leaving.

-Best of luck, mate.

John appeared on the door, bumping into Lestrade on his way out. He was carrying some bags of groceries.

-Oh, you're leaving?

Lestrade smiled and pointed at his notepad.

-Yes, I've got it all sorted out, thankfully. Got people to question.

-Pity, I was going to start dinner. Maybe some other time.

Lestrade smiled and moved aside. –You bet!

He knew it was John's way of apologizing for before.

As he stepped out into the already dark streets, he kept hoping that Sherlock could patch things up with the doctor.

Sherlock took a deep breath and finished clearing out the kitchen table. He smoothed the front of his shirt and prepared a little speech in his mind. But it was for naught. John entered the flat with some bags, and despite the struggle he looked rather cheery, and that puzzled the detective in such a way that he forgot all about speeches and tried to figure out John's actions.

-You wouldn't believe how crowded the store was. You think that people would do their shopping earlier, or on the weekend, but no.

-John…

John stopped his trivial chatter and rummaging through the contents of the plastic bags to look at his boyfriend.

Sherlock didn't know what to say, so he let instinct take over and closed the gap between them, placing his arms around John's shoulders. He felt rather inadequate embracing John like that, but maybe the social convention for hugs justified his behaviour enough.

John relaxed into Sherlock's arms, sighed, and hugged Sherlock back.

-I just needed some air.

Sherlock swallowed and hugged John tighter, squeezing his good shoulder.

-I'm sorry.

-I know.

After dinner, Sherlock and John shared a look. Sherlock had filled him in on the boring case he'd solved for Lestrade that afternoon, and John told him about some irregularities at work. Since their fight had been the night before, right after John had come home from the clinic, he hadn't had the chance to tell Sherlock about it. But they both felt like they were dancing around the important matter at hand –Mycroft's insistence on their attendance to a Holmes family gathering that weekend.

-So… -John started. He let the word linger in the air, trying to think up some way to address the matter in a non-conflictive manner.

Sherlock could have jumped out the window at that very second.

-I realize I should have told you about this after my conversation with Mycroft.

-Please, do so next time.

-Fair enough.

John tried to suppress a smile. Sherlock looked uncertain and his body language reminded John about the time they'd met Moriarty at the pool, _after_ John had attempted to save Sherlock. It was endearing. John could have let Sherlock squirm a bit longer, but his caring side got to him.

-We should go to bed –John thought that would put an end to Sherlock's misery.

The detective looked up, and tried to mask an expression that was only visible for a few seconds. John recognized it at once.

-Right –Sherlock cleared his throat, and took a few strides towards his bedroom –You're, you're right. It is late, after all.

John laughed. It was only a quarter past eight.

-What's on your mind, Sherlock?

Sherlock blushed, but tried to maintain a straight face, avoiding his sudden urge to evacuate the room. Since he couldn't decide on the top three plausible answers to give to John, he chose to enumerate them so they'd reach an outcome favorable to both parts.

-I'm going to ignore your choice of words in favour of our… _armistice_. Instead, –Sherlock tried to gain some composure and placed his hands behind his back and paced around John, eyeing him once every few words. He assumed John would react to his body language positively and allow him some control over the situation –I'd like to discuss our options.

-Options? –John cocked his head to one side almost imperceptibly (enough for Sherlock to notice). He raised one eyebrow and smiled.

_He's interested, not annoyed_, noted Sherlock.

-Yes, John –Sherlock feigned detachment by cocking his head to the other side, mirroring John's body language, and stepping farther away. He kept his voice languid and even toned so as to avoid sounding excited for the first part of his speech –We could, given yesterday's events and the nature of our relationship, retire to our separate bedchambers –He chose that moment to change his posture and lowered his voice -There is, of course, another course of action.

John swallowed audibly as Sherlock walked closer to him.

_Anticipation_, Sherlock thought,_ no, expectation._

He loved being in control. He let his eyes wander about John's face, noticing the small but decisive details that he could read there. Sherlock consciously raised an eyebrow at John and felt a smirk form on his lips.

Then John sucked in a bit of air when a sudden realization hit him. His face reflected many emotions in a short span of time, and Sherlock couldn't place all of them by the time John decided to speak.

-_Sherlock Holmes_, are you _flirting_ with me?

The detective allowed himself to smile, but just one of those controlled, close mouthed, asymmetrical smiles.

-_Obviously_ –he then regained some of his enigmatic aura and stood even closer to John, who stopped smiling all together, probably being too aware of their proximity.

He wouldn't so much as touch John just yet, but John didn't know that, and it was most likely driving him insane. Sherlock loved every second of it. He stared at John's lips.

-Why don't we get comfortable and I'll tell you all about option B?

-_Fair enough_ -quoted John, and they both set out into their rooms to panic quietly and briefly, whilst trying to figure out if pajamas were in order.


End file.
